Quinn frowned as she watched the Johnson’s approach the house with their guns at the ready. Most of the calls in this town were bar fights that couldn’t be handled by the bar employees themselves, some cats in trees, and the rare domestic abuse. She’d never seen Bev or Ed with their hands near their weapons before.
The whispers of the crowd picked up. More people filed into the parking lot and a few made their way down the road as Bev and Ed disappeared inside the house. Ed reemerged a minute later. He grabbed hold of the porch railing and threw up over the side. Such a spectacle probably would have brought laughter from the patrons of the bar on any other occasion; now it only increased the concerned voices surrounding her.
Bev strode past Ed. She jogged down the steps of the house and over to the police cruiser. She sat in the driver’s seat, talking with someone over the microphone before grabbing something and heading back toward the house. Her husband wiped his mouth before joining her to spread out the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the home.
“Oh God,” Quinn breathed. She pressed her palm against her mouth as she watched the home being taped off.
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